


No Rest for the Herald

by biggestdisappointmentinwarfare



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:17:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggestdisappointmentinwarfare/pseuds/biggestdisappointmentinwarfare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adaar contemplates her love for a man she has never known. Still, there's work to be done, so there's little time to linger inside her own memories. </p><p>Set directly after Revelations, where Adaar pardoned Thom Ranier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Rest for the Herald

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to [Mordinette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mordinette), who is an awesome friend, writer and believed that I could actually do this. Of course, she also beta'd it. She is so cool. :D
> 
> This is my first ever fanfic. So on the one hand, please be gentle, but on the other, constructive feedback is greatly appreciated because I have no idea what I'm doing.
> 
> This is a fill for the prompt "I choose to believe that not all crimes are committed by bad people. And I try to understand that some very, very good people do some very bad things.", which can be found [here](http://maythememebewithyou.tumblr.com/post/147053587957/primal-fear-sentence-starters).

"I can't believe you let him stay with the Inquisition!" Cullen was running to keep up with Adaar. They came to an abrupt stop at the doorstep of her quarters, making Cullen almost bump into her.

"I choose to believe that not all crimes are committed by bad people. And I try to understand that some very, very good people do some very bad things." Adaar was tired and just wanted to be alone. The events of the past days weighed heavily on her heart. The ache she felt was getting almost unbearable. "Maybe you should try the same. Now please, excuse me." She entered her room and let the door fall shut, quite loudly, in Cullen's face.

Adaar leaned her back against the door and let out a heavy sigh, one she had been holding since she saw Blackwall stepping on the executioner's block. _What a mess._ But she couldn’t linger; work had to be done. Adaar looked at the big pile of papers that demanded her attention. Another sigh. The desk it was. She settled on the chair and grabbed the paper on top. It took her a while to register what exactly she was reading:

 

_There is little I can say that will ease this pain. Just know that while it hurt to leave, it would've hurt more if I stayed._

_I am deeply sorry._

 

It was Blackwall's, no, Rainier's, letter. Gordon didn't exist. The man she'd shared her bed with, something he knew meant a lot to her, wasn't real. Adaar held the letter above the candle on her desk. She watched as the paper burned. The smell of burning paper, she hated it now more than ever. She dropped it on the ground next to her when the letter started to burn her fingers. Adaar buried her face in her hands. _What a mess._ How could she not have seen that he was lying? _I am not the man you think I am_. He'd literarily said this. That time, when they were arguing… Sort of. Blackwall was deflecting everything Adaar wanted answers for.

_“Medea, please let it go. I’m not the man you think I am. This…”_

_“Gordon! Maker’s breath, then tell me! Tell me what I’ve seen isn’t true. That this is not who you are. Tell me you don’t stand up for those who need protection. Tell me you don’t like to tell jokes. That you don’t always check if I’m alright after a fight. Tell me you don’t have feelings for me. Tell me! Or walk away. Now.”_

_“I can’t.”_

_“Then just accept it! Accept my love. Stop fighting what will inevitably happen! I've seen only good in you and the past is the past. You said so yourself!”_

He hadn’t replied, but she couldn't place the look he had given her then. It showed understanding, but also such unexplainable sadness. She understood now.

Adaar lifted her head and grabbed the next thing that was on top of the pile. She tried to read but the words kept swimming in front of her. Maker damn it all, she was not going to cry, not because of him. She refused to make a fool of herself again. Her mind trailed to that night, when he had left.

Adaar had panicked when she woke and had run to Dorian after she couldn't find Blackwall. She had let herself into his quarters, flung herself on his bed, and started to sob into his pillow, almost hysterically.

_"What if something happened to him, Dorian? What if he started hearing the Calling? What if someone from his past got to him? What if—"_

_"Hold it right there. There’s no use in speculating, he's gone. And he hurt you. If I find him, and mind you, I will be looking for him, I'll set his small clothes on fire."_ _There was a pause in his speech. She still lay face down on his pillow. "Now, what will we do with you? We can't go look for him now without waking the entire castle. That will just bring more attention to it, which is not what you want, I gather?" Medea shook her head. "So it is up to me to lift your spirits, perhaps a drink? No, no, terrible idea. What ab—"_

_"I just don't want to be alone."_

Maker, that had been embarrassing. She didn’t want to go to Dorian now. He’d have nothing to say that would make her feel better. Only “I told you you deserved better.” She knew that. Blackwall, no, Rainier, had told her the same thing over and over again. It was her own fault. Her own fucking fault.

Why did she even like him? Oh, right, he made her feel like she was normal. He made her feel desirable. He made her feel loved. He was everything her parents had told her to look for in a partner. Blackwall was one of the few people who realized she was just a person. Sure, there was always that extreme politeness and his insistence to call her “my Lady”, but she thought it was endearing. He was respectful. He paid mind to her boundaries and insecurities. He was there to cheer her up or give a listening ear or advice. They grew more intimate, at _her_ pace. There was no rush. He’d wait for her. She had felt comfortable and safe. So she had let him in.

_“Well, then. I think it’s your turn, my Lady.” Gordon stood at the foot of her bed, grinning like an idiot and stark-naked._ No, not Gordon. Thom. _Medea sat against the headboard of her bed. Face red, not sure where to look, still completely dressed._

_“Promise you won’t laugh?”_

_“What would there be to laugh about?” Blackwall’s_ , no, Rainier’s, _expression turned serious suddenly. “I’m sure even your imperfections are perfect!” The grin was back. “Now take off those clothes, and give daddy some sugar!” This remark earned him a pillow against the head._

_“Ew, gross!” Medea giggled and started undressing. She was still red._

_"Alright then, no daddy jokes?" Medea had stuck out her tongue. Blackwall’s smile had grown._

_“You’re adorable, you know that, right?” Medea hadn’t believed him then._ She still didn’t.

 _When she was naked,_ _he had whispered, “May I touch you?” Medea had nodded and he climbed on the bed. He had started soft and careful, grazing his fingers over her skin. He kissed every part of her body, whispering about all the things he adored. He had said, as he came to a nasty scar on her hip, “Some day you have to tell me all the stories of your scars.”_

_The request had taken her by surprise. Mind you, her head was in a completely different place._

_“Only if you tell me about yours,” had been her reply._

 

He had paused for a moment with his ministrations. She didn’t pay attention to it then. But now she understood.

Adaar nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a short but polite knock at the door. Who wanted her attention now again? Not a moment's rest for the Herald. Oh, no. She dragged herself out of the chair and down the stairs. There was no one at the door, but something on the floor caught her eye. A small object in gift wrapping with a note. She picked it up. It was unsigned, but there was no mistake who it was from.

Thom Rainier.

 

 _I know this gift is not going to make the mess I created right. I know you’re hurt and it’s entirely my fault. Frankly, I got more than I deserve. So please, accept this gift as an apology_ _for my stupidity. Read it to me whenever I do something stupid. I am, forever, at your mercy._

 

The gift was a book. No, a play. She laughed out loud when she read the title. The laughter turned to sobbing as she clutched the small, familiar book to her chest and sank down to the ground.

 

Oh, he knew her so well.


End file.
